


Under The Streetlight

by de_la_rae



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know are Best Friends, Holding Hands, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, M/M, basically jisung is sad and minho is a good friend, except there are also Feelings, kissing under the streetlight, teen for swearing and kissing, that's literally the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_rae/pseuds/de_la_rae
Summary: If he’s being entirely honest, Minho wanted to be in bed before midnight. He has a test tomorrow and is under the impression that a reasonable amount of sleep the night before results in better test scores. Apparently, life has other plans. Namely, the part of his life named Jisung.~Or: Minho comforts Jisung under the glow of the streetlight that sparked their friendship (and maybe they kiss a little too).
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 22
Kudos: 170





	Under The Streetlight

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello and welcome to another fic by me :)
> 
> i wanna say this was inspired by changbin's "streetlight," but it's not (i just wanted to write about minsung kissing under the streetlight hehe). 
> 
> so, without further ado, here is my contribution to the minsung kissing agenda. please enjoy!
> 
> (fair warning, there is about a paragraph of spiciness, so if that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip the paragraph that starts with "Soon, Minho has Jisung...").

**Jisungie**

11:41 p.m.

_hey_

_meet at our spot in ten_

_Ok. See u_

**_Read 11:44 p.m._ **

If he’s being entirely honest, Minho wanted to be in bed before midnight. He has a test tomorrow and is under the impression that a reasonable amount of sleep the night before results in better test scores. Apparently, life has other plans. Namely, the part of his life named Jisung.

The squeaky floorboard creaks when Minho steps over it – because of course it does – and he hopes that the sound doesn’t carry down the hall to his parents’ bedroom. He toes into his slip-on Vans and tries to open the door without letting any of the cats out. Because it’s October, he shrugs on a down coat before he leaves the house and stuffs his hands in the pockets.

He can see his breath form little white clouds when he passes under a streetlight. It dissipates all too soon, the hot air rising above the chilly air that clings to Minho’s bones as his feet pound on the sidewalk. His toes start getting numb, and he wishes he put on warmer shoes. _Just one more block,_ he thinks, forcing one foot in front of the other. _One more block of freezing toes._

It’s not like his toes are going to stop being cold once he gets where he’s going. He’s just always felt warmer in Jisung’s presence, whether that was because they were huddled in a blanket watching a movie on a cold winter night, or because Jisung’s voice was so warm, it made Minho forget to think about how cold he was. The Jisung Effect, he dubbed it.

When Minho turns the corner, Jisung’s already there, leaning against the streetlight like he was born for leaning against things. He’s bundled in a sweatshirt and a flannel, and probably a t-shirt too, but Minho still suspects the first thing out of Jisung’s mouth is going to be a complaint about the temperature. The light from his phone illuminates his face, kind of like he’s about to tell a ghost story on a camping trip, but Minho knows he’s typing anything but a made-up tale to scare people. His fingers fly away across the keyboard, occasionally pausing to allow Jisung to read over the sentence he just wrote.

He looks so much in his element, writing under the glow of the streetlight, but Jisung didn’t ask Minho to come here to watch him creepily, so Minho pads over to Jisung and whispers a soft “Hey” next to his ear.

Jisung barely startles as Minho presses their shoulders together and leans against the streetlight. He just sighs and shoves his phone into his giant pouch of a sweatshirt pocket that’s been stretched from sneaking large bags of candy into the movie theater. “Why does nighttime have to be so _fucking_ cold?” Jisung mumbles. He stuffs his hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt and nuzzles into its collar. Minho has to hold back a laugh for two reasons: he was right about Jisung commenting on the temperature, and Jisung is being really adorable right now. He’s not sure which reason is making his heart constrict in his chest.

“Because the sun is facing the other side of the Earth right now,” Minho replies, totally expecting the from Jisung.

“Fricken’ smart people. Can’t stand ‘em sometimes,” Jisung huffs, crossing his arms. His eyes peek out at Minho from under his sweatshirt hood, and Minho can tell he doesn’t mean that at all.

“Of course you can’t,” Minho says, a smile pulling at his lips. Jisung giggles silently beside him, jostling Minho’s shoulder. Once that subsides, they’re quiet, save for the occasional shiver. Minho watches their breath mingle in the air under the streetlight for a while. Then Jisung coughs, and he remembers why he came here so late. “So… you wanted to talk?”

His words hang in the air like a puppet on a string until Jisung grabs them and answers the question. “Mom started grilling me about my grades again. Don’t even know why, I retook that bio test like she told me to…” he starts, then sighs. “Dad got home around then, and he sided with her, of course.”

Jisung’s voice gets smaller as he keeps talking, and Minho instinctively shuffles closer to him, as if his presence would help Jisung’s voice be stronger. Jisung just shakes his head as he stuffs his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “Anyway, I left after our ‘discussion’ turned from ripping on my grades to trying to get me to give up writing.”

Minho breathes out a sigh. The air whistles through his lips. “That sounds… not fun.” Of course it doesn’t sound fun, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t know what to say. Any time Jisung ever brings up his parents’ harping about his grades, Minho’s brain stops working. He’s never had arguments with his parents about stuff like this, so it’s not like he can relate. All Minho can really do is… be there for him.

So, to show Jisung’s he’s there for him, Minho pulls one hand out of his coat pocket and reaches for Jisung’s hand. It’s tucked deep in his sweatshirt pocket, but once Jisung sees what he’s trying to do, he pulls his hand out and grips Minho’s hand tightly. Their fingers interlock – Minho’s not sure who did that, maybe both of them did it subconsciously – and their clasped hands fall to their sides.

Jisung’s thumb runs over Minho’s knuckles. “Yeah, _really_ not fun,” he chuckles. A heavy sigh forces its way out, and his shoulders slump a considerable amount. There’s a small pause before Jisung’s next words twist off his tongue like a viper ready to strike. “They don’t think I’m gonna make it if I become a writer.”

And there’s the viper’s bite. It stings and it burns a little, even in the chilly air. But Minho’s not too surprised to hear it; these kinds of things are usually a long time coming. But it sounds too somber, too despondent coming from Jisung’s mouth. The way his voice breaks when he says ‘make it’ has something twisting in Minho’s gut, and . He knows anything he could say right now isn’t going to make anything better, so he settles for gently squeezing Jisung’s hand and tucking both their hands inside his coat pocket. They were starting to get a little cold in the direct wind.

As a result of having his hand in Minho’s pocket, Jisung gets pulled a little closer to Minho. He nestles into Minho for warmth and leans his head on Minho’s shoulder. Minho doesn’t mind, not at all. He just angles his body towards Jisung for optimum body heat sharing. He also doesn’t mind watching Jisung’s eyes flutter open and closed. He looks almost peaceful, but Minho knows that his parents’ attacks take a toll on him. The bags under his eyes and his chewed-up bottom lip are proof of that.

“We’re…” Jisung starts. His eyebrows furrow like he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. Minho gives him time to put his words together. “We’re gonna make it… right?” His wide eyes meet Minho’s, and something flashes behind them, something that looks a lot like hope.

“What do you mean, ‘make it?’” Minho asks. He smiles to try to lighten the mood.

Jisung breathes out, almost like a laugh, and looks down at his feet before bringing his eyes back to Minho’s. His cheeks look a little pink, but that could be a trick of the streetlight. “I mean, we’ll still be… friends,” he starts. His eyebrows furrow for a second, then he nods to himself. “Friends, for a long time, right?” Jisung tries to smile, but it looks almost pained when coupled with the desperate hope in his eyes. 

Minho’s heart almost snaps in two.

*

Minho remembers the first day he saw Jisung.

On the first day of middle school, he was getting on the bus when someone yelled “WAIT!” from across the street. He remembers looking just in time to see a kid collide with the streetlight on the other side of the road, headfirst, probably as he was trying to cross the street.

Minho averted his eyes, but grimaced as though he felt the pain too. Even though he felt something, h. He only felt a little bit bad about not checking on the kid, but it wasn’t like he’d have to talk to him.

Unfortunately, all the other seats were full – Minho’s stop was the last stop – so streetlight-kid plopped himself down next to Minho and made himself comfortable. Comfortable meant taking up a good two-thirds of the seat, leaving Minho squished up next to the window.

Now that the kid was sitting next to him, Minho felt sorry enough to ask if the kid was okay – he hit his head pretty hard, there was already a bump forming on his forehead – but the kid only responded with, “No, I’m Jisung,” sleepily as he rested his head on the back of the seat.

Minho found himself grinning and replied with, “I’m Minho.” Jisung’s eyes opened just a smidge, but he was already smiling. Minho congratulated himself on making a new friend.

Little did either of them know that they’d made a best friend that day.

*

Minho can still see the tiny dent in Jisung’s forehead from ramming into the streetlight, the very one they’re leaning against. It’s just above the outer part of his left eyebrow. Jisung always complains about it whenever he says he has to look at it in the mirror, but Minho insists that it’s a part of his charm. Most people won’t be able to see it up close, but Minho knows exactly where to look.

“Minho?” Jisung’s voice is tiny compared to how it normally is. Normally, Jisung can command an entire room if he feels like it. That always leaves Minho in awe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Minho sighs and pulls his gaze back to Jisung’s eyes. They’ve still got that flash of hope floating around in them, but it’s a lot harder to see because his eyes are welling up. “Oh, Sung, don’t cry.” Minho pulls his free hand out of his pocket and wipes the corners of Jisung’s eyes with his thumbs. His skin is cold, but Minho doesn’t care. Anything to stem the flow of tears building up in Jisung’s eyes.

“I’m not crying,” Jisung insists, then sniffles. He blinks rapidly to quell his tears, but a few still make their way down his cheeks. Minho does his best to catch them with his thumb. “I’m not,” he says again, this time so much softer.

“Of course you aren’t,” Minho reassures him. He swipes one last tear off Jisung’s cheek and wipes his thumb on his pants. “Unless you’re sad about the fact that you’re stuck with me until we die.”

Jisung laughs, voice thick with the tears he cried and probably also snot. He sniffles one more time before looking back up at Minho. His gaze darts somewhere else on Minho’s face below his eyes, and Minho’s heart does a flip into his stomach when he imagines Jisung’s gaze flitting over his lips.

Once Jisung’s eyes finally make it back to Minho’s, the pink tint to his cheeks is considerably more visible, and Minho’s not sure whether it’s from the cold or something else entirely. He dares to let himself hope that the something else is _him._

Jisung opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He backs off whatever he was going to say before a single syllable can roll off his tongue. Minho tilts his head in a way he hopes is inviting so Jisung will say what’s on his mind. But Jisung stays silent, and it’s confusing because Minho’s never seen him like this before. Usually, Jisung isn’t afraid to speak up in class or tell the waiter they got their food order wrong. Now, there’s a question written all over Jisung’s face and Minho’s not sure if he’s going to ask it

“Can…” Jisung starts, faltering again. He bites his lip, then continues. “Can I kiss you?”

Minho does such a huge double-take, he almost falls over. “Why?”

Jisung squints, clearly confused at Minho’s reaction. He doesn’t back away. “Just because. Because I want to. Because I need to do something. I need to… get my mind off things.”

Minho’s eyes flit to Jisung’s lips subconsciously before he realizes what he’s doing and pulls them back up to Jisung’s eyes immediately. “I mean… sure, if you want to,” he says, trying to be nonchalant about it. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t nervous, though. He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t want it too.

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he closes the space between him and Minho. “Really?” His voice is breathy, and Minho’s heart jumps. He becomes ten times more aware of their intertwined hands in his pocket. He doesn’t think he has a voice to respond with, so instead, he brings his free hand back up to Jisung’s face. Jisung gasps when Minho’s hand brushes his jaw, from the cold, Minho figures.

Jisung seems to shrink into his sweatshirt, and Minho smiles. “Maybe _I_ should kiss _you?”_ He poses it as a question, so Jisung knows he has a way out. He doesn’t want this to become a game of chicken that ruins their friendship.

But from the way Jisung’s skin heats up under his hand, Minho doesn’t think anything is going to be ruined tonight. He brushes his thumb over Jisung’s cheek and tilts his head. Jisung nods slowly, a sure look in his eyes. He bites his lip as Minho leans in.

A breath away from a kiss, Minho’s eyes flit from Jisung’s lips to his eyes once more, just to make sure he’s okay with what’s about to happen. Jisung just rolls his eyes and closes the rest of the distance himself.

Jisung’s lips are chapped. But they’re warm, and Minho enjoys kissing them entirely too much. He especially enjoys when Jisung’s free hand finds its way to Minho’s neck and pulls him that much closer. Minho’s hand moves from Jisung’s cheek to his chin and tilts it upwards to get a better angle. Jisung sighs when he does that, and Minho nearly melts.

Soon, Minho has Jisung pushed up against the streetlight with a hand on Jisung’s hip. His hand stays there because once Minho’s tongue found its way into Jisung’s mouth, Jisung’s hips started moving, and they couldn’t have that in public, even though Minho finds himself wanting to just as badly as Jisung now.

When Minho finally pulls away, Jisung tries tugging at the hair he’s latched his hand onto at the back of Minho’s head to reconnect their lips again. Minho just shakes his head and pries Jisung’s hand off him, feeling a weight in his chest as Jisung gives him the puppy-dog eyes. His eyes are glistening and his lips are shining and Minho doesn’t know if he’s ever found Jisung more beautiful.

That’s when Minho realizes he just kissed – no, full-on made out – with his best friend. And he _liked it._

“Oh no, Jisung, I’m so sorr– ”

“Don’t be,” Jisung says. His voice is back to normal; not breathy, not nervous, not scared. Minho’s glad. Jisung smiles and his lips form a little heart shape. Minho didn’t know they did that, but he likes it. He wants to see that smile again. “I wanted that – I _want_ that. Present tense.”

Minho chuckles and ducks his head. He’s sure he’s going to start blushing soon. “Did you like it?” He sounds a lot more shy asking that than he wanted too.

“’Course I did,” Jisung replies, all too eager. He squeezes Minho’s hand from inside the pocket. “Did – did you?”

Even though Minho can feel the heat rising to his face, he looks up at Jisung and smiles. “Yeah.”

Jisung smiles the heart-shaped smile again, and Minho’s heart soars. “Good.”

They smile at each other like the complete idiots they are – Minho means that lovingly – for a while until Minho glances at the streetlight and remembers that Jisung asked him to come here for a reason. “Um, this might sound weird, but – ” he glances at Jisung awkwardly. “Do you wanna spend the night at my house? I dunno if you wanna go back to yours…”

Jisung seems to deflate when he lets out a sigh. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he says while nodding. “Thanks for offering.” Minho smiles in return and, with both their hands still tucked in Minho’s coat pocket, turn down the street and make their way to Minho’s house.

Minho’s listening to their footsteps thud together on the sidewalk when Jisung asks, “Does this mean I get another kiss?” He’s grinning cheekily when Minho looks over at him, but it’s the heart-shaped smile, so Minho can’t be mad at him.

“I guess that could be arranged,” he says, as if he’d be able to refuse Jisung anything once he borrows some of Minho’s pajamas. Well, almost anything. “No funny business, though, okay? We can talk about that later.”

“Right, of course,” Jisung agrees quickly. His shoulders seem to slump and his grip on Minho’s hand loosens. He’s not so tense anymore, and – Minho gathers from glancing over at Jisung periodically – he seems content. He’s content just to be walking in the freezing cold October night air with Minho, holding Minho’s hand. Minho’s glad that the thing Jisung finds comfort and solace doing is being with him.

Jisung squeezes Minho’s hand once more as they walk up Minho’s front steps. Minho detaches his hand from Jisung’s to wrangle his key out of his pocket. Once they’re in Minho’s bedroom, Jisung wraps his arms around Minho and buries his head in Minho’s neck. The words ‘thank you’ are whispered over and over as Minho rubs Jisung’s back.

Snuggled up in Minho’s bed, protected from the cold fall air by a layer of blankets, Minho kisses Jisung. And Jisung kisses him, and they kiss again and again, and they hold each other like they aren’t going to wake up next to one another in the morning.

See, Minho wanted to be in bed by midnight. But apparently, life gets in the way sometimes. Namely, the part of his life named Jisung.

(But if he’s being entirely honest, Minho doesn’t really mind. He’d take falling asleep with Jisung in his arms at one a.m. over falling asleep alone before midnight any day.)

**Author's Note:**

> me: *happy dances cuz i've been trying to write this fic for MONTHS and finally got around to it last week*
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed, and if you did, leave a comment/kudo if you feel like it (i really enjoy reading comments, they make me smile). hopefully you're having a wonderful day/night wherever you are, and pls remember to drink water. 
> 
> also, happy bang chan day! (chan is not a character in this fic by any means but it's his bday so imma congratulate him anyway).


End file.
